


Ignis Fatuus

by Uakari



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uakari/pseuds/Uakari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life after surviving the front lines has unforseen complications.  Must all dreams have meaning?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignis Fatuus

**Author's Note:**

> Submission for Halloween Contest! This fic is based (very) loosely on the film Jacob's Ladder, which is second only to The Dark Crystal in the ranks of fubared movies my dad made me watch when I was younger (although this one I can stomach rewatching - The Dark Crystal?? Oh HELL no. Jim Henson damned near ruined my childhood with that movie...) Should probably also note that this is not the normal fluffy crack I usually write...apologies to anyone looking for that.

“ _Pull back!_ ”

The order is clear, even as the words clang hollowly about his consciousness, each syllable reverberating his disbelief. He has _never_ stood down, _never_ pulled back. This is inconceivable – _unacceptable_ – he tells himself, and would tell his squadron commander – the rat bastard – as well, if he thought he stood a chance of being heard over the never-ending scrape of metal on metal and intermittent bursts of cannon fire. He curses silently instead, grits his teeth and scans the rubble for his comrades.

The search is thwarted by the labyrinth of smoke and fire lashing the air around him, the blitz of spells cast by mages on both sides cracking against the wind and scattering their smoldering remnants against the horizon. The gleam of his own sword barely registers in the darkness, though the blade moves only inches from his face. A flash of light and the earth erupts into chaos beneath his feet; a roiling mass of bodies convulse around him, flailing limbs, ripping fingers and he’s barely able to maintain his footing against their pull. Another flash of light and he sees blond sink into their depths, swallowed into the endless sea of grasping hands and contorted faces.

His blade swings wildly, unconcerned with its target. The lights cease and he is left blind, guided only by the cries filling his ears and drawing toward one particular pitch amongst the many. A catch; he stumbles forward, enveloped by the writhing battlefield, and grapples blindly with the darkness. His fingers rake across bone, hair, skin, and pull back abruptly as jelly gives way to a wet burst beneath his palms and he is knocked backward by the force of the resulting scream. His sword is gone, lost amongst the wreckage, but this does not keep him from searching, scouring the piles…

There is nothing now but the darkness. His shoulder is empty, its load lightened, blood spewing from a severed artery. He’s aware of the burn, but more acutely aware of the madness that surrounds him. He stands. He falls. The smell of burning flesh fills his nostrils as a scream rips from his throat.

There is nothing now but the darkness.

Kurogane wakes with a start, pulse pounding and gasping for breath. There is no sound here save for the slow grinding of gears within the clock on the wall, the seconds clacking away as the teeth interlock and spin against one another; no discomfort but the familiar sting of a rusted spring pressing against his back, the worn and bent metal support beam biting into his hips through the too-thin mattress. 

The sweat on his brow cools as he settles back against the pillow, breath forced through slow, ragged, gulps. A match strikes in the darkness to light the oil lamp at the bedside, the mattress shifts, and fingers brush against the line of his jaw.

“Again?” The voice is groggy with interrupted sleep, but as warm and familiar as the blue eyes that search his face in the dim light. Kurogane lifts his own hand, still solidly (and mercifully) attached to his frame, to push stray strands of blond – the same blond he watched disappear beneath a nightmare sea of faces only moments ago – out of the other man’s face.

“Mmm,” Kurogane grunts noncommittally. It was nothing he hasn’t dreamt a thousand times before, nothing to get stirred up about so early in the morning, and surely nothing to worry Fay over (the idiot is prone to worry and, more-over, prone to hen-pecking, which Kurogane _certainly_ doesn’t need at this hour). They are here now, solid and real, and that is all he needs to know. Dreams are nothing more than a burden his sleeping mind is forced to bear.

Fay is not so easily satisfied, however, and rolls to lie atop Kurogane’s chest, balancing his elbows on either side of the larger man’s shoulders and staring into red eyes with a serious expression. “The frontagain?”

“Mmm,” Kurogane grunts again and exhales deeply. He’s not in the mood to discuss whatever phantasmagorical demons have been haunting him, remnants of the past though they may be. He wants only to think of the here and now; the creaking bed-frame, the warm tangle of limbs beneath threadbare blankets, the smell of sweat and metal mingled with soap and incense. His palms slide roughly up Fay’s arms, tracing the distinct dips and bulges of sinewous muscles, skim the sharp contours of shoulders, and press into the warm flesh of the other’s back.

“You worry me, Kuro-chan.”

“It’s only a dream,” Kurogane insists, pulling their bodies closer still.

“A dream that’s been kept you awake for seven years now,” Fay shifts slightly, leaning back to convey his displeasure more acutely. “You’ve not been keeping your appointments, have you?”

Kurogane hisses. “I don’t need that witch-doctor.”

“No?” Fay raises an eyebrow, “Then why do you sleep so much better when you see her?”

“I don’t need her,” Kurogane repeats, pulling Fay against him once again.

“Stubborn,” Fay chuckles, and nibbles at the tip of Kurogane’s nose. “What _do_ you need, then?”

“Exercise,” Kurogane rocks Fai’s hips against his own, “Exhaustion.”

“Play around with your body, rather than your mind?” Fay puffs, grinding his hips slowly down once more. “Kuro-rin is like a child in need of a lullaby – still wanting to be rocked to sleep.”

 _“Who’s a child?”_

“Only children are afraid of the doctor,” Fay shifts his weight onto one arm and trails the other along Kurogane’s side, fingernails digging into the skin of his hip. “You’re going in tomorrow,” he insists, “After work.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Kurogane huffs. It’s an empty promise – he knows it, Fay likely knows it as well – he’s always maintained a talent for slipping out of these appointments (proof in his own mind that he’s perfectly sane and doesn’t actually _need_ them) and tomorrow is unlikely to prove the exception. He can _feel_ the wariness in Fay’s gaze as the other sighs and dips his head.

“You’re hopeless,” Fay murmurs as he grazes the other’s lips. Kurogane hums his agreement and reaches for the beside table, even as he arches off the mattress to deepen their kiss. His mouth is starving, voracious as he ravages the other, unable to sate his hunger for salt-tinged flesh, bruised lips, and the sweet mixture of whiskey and tobacco that still flavors Fay’s mouth hours after consumption. He is a glutton, desperate for his fix, and helpless as a junkie when his drug is offered.

He coats Fay’s fingers quickly, methodically and guides them between his legs, exhaling sharply as the other obliges him and presses in quickly. Fay teases – as he _always_ does – and Kurogane growls anxiously despite the electric jolts coursing through his body. He allows Fay to play according to the other’s whims, content to feel the other man moving around and within him, relishing the slow burn even as he reaches between their bodies to slick Fay’s cock and tugs in a manner he can only hope conveys his underlying impatience.

Fay smirks and curls his fingers, in no particular rush to appease. He teases two fingers up Kurogane’s torso, grinning like a madman as the other twitches under the attention, and taps at the end of a wrinkling nose. “You’re much more ticklish when you’re sleepy.”

“Shut up,” Kurogane says simply. He’s not in the mood, no matter how much the verbal sparring might turn him on under other circumstances. Right now his only compulsion is to touch, to taste, to feel – hearing and speaking (he doesn’t even want to consider comprehending) are low on his immediate list of prerogatives. He slides a hand up to run across the line of Fai’s jaw, recoiling only slightly as the blond snaps his teeth playfully.

“Kuro-pon never lets me have any fun,” Fay sighs, dipping his face to nuzzle against Kurogane’s cheek, “Even when he wakes me up in the middle of the night…” He reaches his free hand between them to pump leisurely at the other’s cock while sucking lightly at the lips below him.

Kurogane exhales slowly and spreads his knees wider, easily losing himself in the surge of warmth to his cheeks and groin. Only the barest of noises escapes his throat as Fay enters him, swift and smooth, and mouths crash together hungrily once more. Without warning, he finds his hands pinned above his head, tanned fingers twisted amongst paler and trapped securely in the downy fluff of the pillows as Fay presses his weight against them.

Fay rocks slowly, a tempered coil of shadow and sinew in the dim lamplight, eyes trained on Kurogane’s face as he moves. Kurogane strains beneath him, stars flashing across his vision as he drives his hips to meet each thrust. Eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in the slow lift and press; arms bulge and release, surrendering to their captivity. The warm palms bearing down against his own anchor him as he slips deeper and deeper into abandon; hold him in place against the onslaught of sensation tearing through his veins. 

A sharp nip to his throat brings him barreling back to the present. He nudges his chin against the blond head; urging it upward, demanding lips on his own, seeking blue eyes in the low light. He is rewarded only with more teeth and gasps sharply as he feels the sharp points sink into taught muscle. A warm trickle blossoms into a burning rush that pools above his breast bone, and no amount of struggle can free him from the assassin’s grip. Empty sockets hold his gaze, smoldering in the darkness as gore seeps from their folds, splashing across his chest and mingling with the rush of blood pouring from his throat.

He tenses, screams, and is unsure whether it is in terror or ecstasy.

There’s a loud clamor as he wakes, but it’s the work of several moments for his sleep-soaked mind to register that he’s knocked the lamp from the bedside table. He rubs his face and groans, arm snaking below the mattress to gather the bulb before it begins leaking. He sets it back on the table, steadying it as it threatens to tip forward again as he tries to stand; his legs are tangled in the sheets, the sheets are all but ripped from the mattress, and the mattress is dangling limply from his side of the frame. His pillows have been tossed or kicked to the floor, the imprint of a renegade spring acutely palpable behind his ear.

 _It’s no wonder his head is throbbing,_ Kurogane thinks as he kicks the confining material away and struggles to his feet. He readjusts the mattress and folds the frame back into the wall, grumbling as the rusty beams creak and grind against one another. He slaps the latch down with a huff and turns his attention toward the smell of breakfast.

“Good morning, Kuro-mare.”

“That’s a new one,” Kurogane mumbles as he pulls a pair of clean coveralls from the wardrobe.

“It’s fitting, considering the way you were screaming last night, and most of this morning.”

“Sorry.”

“Appointment,” Fay reminds him sharply, “After work.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Kurogane murmurs as he stumbles into the small kitchenette. He presses a light kiss against Fay’s forehead and stares questioningly at the roaring burner of the stove. “I thought the gas was out…?”

“Oh,” Fay stiffens, just noticeably, and turns his face away, “Yeah, I…I’m sorry.”

Kurogane sighs and massages his temples with one massive hand. “Sorry for what?” he groans, irked by the direction of the conversation, “I told you, I don’t _care_. I’ve never cared. This is all some sort of ridiculous penance for something you had nothing to do with.”

“But I swore…”

“And I swear I’ll kick your ass if you don’t knock this shit off. Do you have any idea how much easier it would be for you to find a job if you’d cut the crap and look for something where you can use magic?”

Fay rubs his face as a pained expression takes it. “Kuro-sama…”

“Don’t,” Kurogane cuts him off, “It’s stupid. Besides, if you can conjure a flame to light the damned stove, you can sure as hell conjure something that pays the rent.”

“Always to the point,” Fay chuckles darkly and kills the flame, “I thought you would appreciate something warm for breakfast.” He carefully scoops the contents of the griddle – eggs and some kind of sausage, if Kurogane is not mistaken – onto two plates and sets them on the iron spool that serves as a make-shift table.

Kurogane grunts his approval and takes a bite. He fights to keep himself from frowning; nothing has taste these days. He isn’t sure if it’s the result of working in a dirty garage and being constantly assaulted with dust and soot and countless ionized metals, or if it’s – god forbid – nerves or an old war wound reopening itself in his head. He fights the thought away mere seconds too late if Fay’s expression is anything to judge by.

“It’s fine,” he insists, shoveling eggs into his mouth, “Delicious.”

Fay gives him a measured glance and continues eating in silence.

The cobblestone streets are slick with the morning dew and fog hangs heavy in the air as he winds his way to work. The clouds are so thick he can barely make out the buildings in the dull lamplight as he walks. This is fine; it’s not as if he’s about to forget the route he’s taken every day for the past seven years – he could probably find the damned place blindfolded. 

He rounds the final corner and pulls the heavy folding sheet-metal door up, kicking at a trash can to scare away the stray cats that lurk near the entrance. The garage is dark – he’s the first to arrive, as always – and he manages to light the gas lamps around the periphery without burning his fingers too badly and stalks to his work bench, pulling on his heavy leather gloves and digging through the mess for the goggles he knows he left there.

The canvas sheets are heavy as he wrenches them away from his work, or rather – If he’s being honest – the bane of his existence. Saiga’s prototype all-terrain, floating, flying, flapping, piece of crap that he can never quite remember the _exact_ title of – only that it has far too many bells and whistles and the wire-framed bat wings give it all the appearance of a child’s toy constructed of paper clips. He sighs, knowing he isn’t paid for his brain, but for his brawn and sets to work. He needs only to get the steam pump up and running today so that bastard can finish soldering the rest of the nightmare frame onto his brainchild during the night-shift. Which should be easy enough to do, all things considered. 

The slide valve needs realignment. He’s reused an older valve from one of Saiga’s less successful ventures – there’s no point in wasting perfectly good new parts until he knows for certain he can actually make the contraption _work_ , and Saiga’s flights of fancy tend to be… _abstract_ at best. Kurogane has always wondered if his efforts might be applied to some more useful contraption if the capricious inventor wasn’t shagging their primary investor, but at the same time knows he’d undoubtedly be bored by the repetition and likely out of work himself – the economy has tanked after the war and more former soldiers than not have found themselves on the limited public dole or living on the streets. He has no desire to face either fate.

With a sigh, he looses the valve from its fastenings and slicks it down with a generous amount of grease before setting it lightly back into position. A flick of his wrist and the magnifying lenses slip over his goggles, bringing the finer points of articulation into sharper focus. He can see the previous day’s errors in glaring detail and scolds himself as he delicately positions his clamps and sets about adjusting the valve flap under the rod. He’d always expected metal work to be more crass, less defined, but can’t help but feel a swelling of pride as his fingers and tools flit across the minute surfaces and secure the bolts into place.

He steps back to admire his handiwork, carefully pulling at the valve rod to ensure it slides at its intended, and smirks. There’s footsteps approaching – too quiet and unobtrusive to be his boss – and he cranes his neck to find his apprentice arriving just as the fist hints of sunlight break through the garage doors. The young man waves, and sets his effects at the workbench before pulling on his work gear and joining Kurogane at the engine.

“Morning,” Kurogane grunts, still inspecting the valve.

“Morning,” the young man replies, “Sakura sent along some lunch for us today – Fay ran upstairs after you’d left and said you’d forgotten yours.”

“Oh…” Kurogane fights off a grin. The young couple living above them had been friends since the days of wandering through enemy territories, though at the time they had been nothing more than children without a home, content to follow the soldiers’ camp and work odd jobs in exchange for the small amount of protection it afforded them. Sakura had attached herself immediately to the blond idiot (for that was how Kurogane had thought of him at the time – nothing more than a nuisance he had been forced to share a tent with) and Syaoran had soon followed. With those days long behind them, it had seemed only right to continue looking after their make-shift family. “I don’t suppose he headed to the Jobs Agency afterward, did he?”

“That can tell you to nothing,” Syaoran answers quietly.

“Huh?” Kurogane balks, eyeing his apprentice suspiciously, “Did you not sleep well last night?”

“I slept fine, why?” Syaoran asks, picking through his toolbox.

“Talking funny,” is all Kurogane mutters and turns back to his task. He pushes it away, too well aware that it might be his own lack of sleep making the kid sound funny. “I just got the valve realigned, we need to regrease the piston and test out the new compression chamber. Headgear, kid. This thing is likely to explode.”

Syaoran nods and steps backward, shoulders twitching. Twitching, twitching, _twitching_ , until his entire body is wracked with violent spasms and his head lolls and sways with the rhythm.

“Kid!”

“What?” Syaoran answers with a confused look, wrench poised and ready to loosen the bolts from the drive piston.

Kurogane blinks and shakes his head.  _Goddamned nightmare. Goddamned lack of sleep_. “Nothing, just get that loosened up while I grab some coal from the back.”   

His footsteps fall heavily against the concrete as he rounds the corner to the coal storage. He pauses, back against the wall and closes his eyes. Stimulants. Coffee, tea, anything. As loath as he is to resort to chemicals, it’s going to take _something_ to get him through this shift. He rubs a forearm across his eyes, hoping to chase some of their stinging away, and heads for the coal pile.

He’s barely shoveled half a bucketful when the garage explodes behind him. The bucket clatters to the ground behind him as he bolts through the fire and flame, arms waving wildly in front of his face to diffuse the smoke. He has no idea what could have exploded – the engine hasn’t been fueled for days and there should be nothing combustible in the work room…

The world narrows to the charred body at his feet, black coils twining over the skin, writhing and twisting and pulsing with the beat of his own heart. A single brown eye stares back at him, miraculously unharmed, bobbing in time with the motion before falling loose and clamoring against the floor. It rolls away from the molten engine, tinkling against the cracks in the concrete, and Kurogane bends to capture it, the shock of the scene overpowering any reservations he might once have held.

The eye is safe in his hand and he exhales, slowly falling backward as the black coils spread from the pupil, enveloping his arm, and groping at his face. He breathes them in, lost in their pulsing spasms, and barely registers the horror in the blue eyes staring back at him as nimble fingers work to untangle the mess.

“They can’t stay here.”

“Where should they stay, then, Kuro-sama?” Fay sings as he piles their clean laundry into a make-shift cot and spreads a rough woolen blanket over the top. “Maybe you think they should go camp with Seishiro? That sounds like a fantastic idea to me; I imagine he’ll have all sorts of wholesome things to teach them…”

Kurogane grits his teeth and growls low in his throat. “They shouldn’t be in this camp at all. We’re in the middle of a fucking war, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“All the more reason for them to have shelter,” Fay answers blithely, and Kurogne can tell the blond is mostly ignoring him. Fay takes the pillow from his own bed and tosses it onto the pile, smiling. “There, now you two can settle down for the night. Don’t mind Kuro-tan, he’s just a perpetual grumpass.”

There is unmistakable fear in the eyes of the youths as they regard Kurogane, and he sighs exasperatedly as he turns away. He can’t be bothered to care; no one survives for long out here, anyway – it would be best to just turn the brats out into the night and be done with it. Clean cut and simple, no messy ties to sever when the inevitable happened.

“Kuro-rin…”

“Just shut the fuck up,” he bellows, twisting Fay’s wrist, “They’re not fucking pets you can take in and play house with. They’re children, and they’re as likely to die out here as the rest of us. What the hell do you expect me to do with them when you traipse off and get yourself killed, _huh_?”

“I’m not going to get-”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Kurogane growls, “You don’t duck when the arrows fly, you don’t move when you’re spotted, you barely evade sword attacks, and you refuse to conjure even in self defense. A fully-trained mage, and you’re wasting away in the infantry.”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with this! You can’t take care of yourself – or you flat out refuse – and now you want to bring children into the equation? You’re insane!”

“I’m not going to die.”

“We’re all going to die,” Kurogane snaps and rips the flaps of their small tent open, “You’re just not going to care when it happens.”

“So they can stay, then?” Fay asks quietly.

“Of course they can fucking stay,” Kurogane grumbles as he leave the tent, “What am I going to do, toss them out to freeze?” He stomps out into the cold, and is certain he can feel Fay’s smirk against his back.

There’s a sharp pain between his shoulders as consciousness grapples with the last defiant remnants of darkness. Something hard and heavy collides with the bottom of his foot.

“Wake up.”

He forces an eyelid open.

“Shift’s over, sleeping beauty.”

“What the hell…?” he grumbles as the garage falls into place around him. It’s swept and clean – practically spotless. He leans back in his chair until it collides with his work bench, startling at the impact.

“Go home,” Saiga insists, eyeing him with no small measure of concern, “And take tomorrow off.”

“Where’s the kid?”

“Gone before I got here. Figured you sent him home for the day.”

“Yeah…” Kurogane drags himself to his feet and collects his belongings from the workbench. He steals a quick look over at the engine – it’s puffing quietly and rhythmically away, with only the occasional sputter interrupting its flow.  _At least some good apparently came of today…_

“Seriously, I don’t want to see you here tomorrow,” Saiga repeats as Kurogane heads for the exit, “I’ll bust your head open if you show up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kurogane grunts, waving a final farewell to his employer, “I’ll see you later…”

The sun is still hanging low on the horizon, but he’s too exhausted to make his way into town to pay a visit to that damned witch doctor, and decides to head home instead. He’ll hear no end of scolding, but he’s too far gone to care. Bed, as worn and uncomfortable as their current mattress is, is the only appealing thought he can muster at the moment.

The apartment is dark but for the few rays of light sneaking past the heavy drapes as he closes the door behind him, and the faint sound of snoring colors the prevailing silence. He tiptoes past Fay – curled up asleep in an armchair – and quickly undresses for bed. He manages to pull the bed from its wall frame with only minimal creaking and tosses the pillows and blankets to land haphazardly across the mattress.

“Mmm…what time is it?” Fay mumbles groggily.

Kurogane curses himself silently and opts for a round-about version of the truth. “Not sure,” he murmurs, “Going to bed.”

Fay cracks open an eyelid and smiles wryly at him. “There’s still light coming in through the windows, Kuro-tan. Are you really going to bed?”

“Yes,” Kurogane insists and sinks onto the mattress. “Tired…”

“Did you see Ichihara this afternoon?”

 _Damn it._  He should have known the insufferable busybody wouldn’t let him rest so easily. “No, I-”

“ _No_?!” Fay’s eyes are suddenly wide, panic dancing across his face as he jolts to his feet, “Kurogane, you _have_ to go!”

“What are you getting so worked up for?” Kurogane demands petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest, “It’s just some nightma – _hey_!” He lurches forward to catch Fay as the other stumbles, doubling over the armchair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Fay chuckles weakly, but the coughs spluttering from his lips speak otherwise, “I just…ate some bad sandwiches or something. Sakura brought them…they don’t have an icebox upstairs, you know.”

Kurogane’s eyebrows twitch skeptically as he drags the smaller man over to their kitchen sink, holding blond hair back as Fay wretches into the basin. He runs the tap and snatches a (mostly) clean rag from a hook to wet under the stream. Fay’s skin is flushed with fever; Kurogane can feel the heat burning against his arm as he holds the other man close and runs the damp rag across a trembling forehead. There are no “bad sandwiches” settling against the porcelain bowl, only thick, black sputum.

“I’ll be fine, Kuro-pon,” Fay insists shakily, taking the rag to wipe his own face, “I just need to get some rest, too.” He turns the tap to full power, chasing away any evidence he might be speaking less than truthfully, and pulls away from Kurogane’s hold. “Let’s go to bed.”

Kurogane follows him closely back to their bed, arms poised and ready to catch the blond should he lose himself to another fit. He tucks the blankets snugly around Fay before settling down himself and pulling the other close. Fay still burns against him, but relaxes pliantly into his arms and smiles against Kurogane’s cheek. Kurogane can only hold him closer as sleep takes them, folded tightly against one another in the dim light of the afternoon.

“Who’s Yuui?”

“What?” Fay drops the candle he’s carrying, nearly setting the floor of the tent on fire before he’s able to sweep it back up.  “What are you talking about, Kuro-puu?”

Kurogane dangles a metal tag from his fingers, eyebrows lifting questioningly. He’s found this tangled amongst Fay’s pile of trinkets cluttering their only table while attempting (rather fruitlessly) to separate the refuse from the necessary. The tag itself is familiar; an almost perfect replica of the one each of them wears tucked into their uniforms, only the lettering across the front betraying its foreignness.

Fay snatches the tag away from Kurogane’s grasp, terror flitting across his face. It’s quickly shoved into his pocket as he storms back over to the sleeping children he’s been tending, ignoring the bemused look he’s receiving. He fusses over Sakura, pulling the the blanket more firmly under her chin, tucking stray hairs behind her ears, stroking her cheek comfortingly as she sleeps. He checks on Syaoran as well before standing back up, hope struck from his eyes as he finds Kurogane still standing there, silently demanding an explanation.

“He’s…” Fay begins and flounders, “He _was_ my brother.”

“Was?”

“My twin,” Fay continues, gaining momentum as Kurogane refuses to break eye contact, “He died. Before the war started. He…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Kurogane cuts him off gently. “I was just curious – I’m not asking you to lay out your history or anything you don’t want to share.”

“I…” Fay falters again, looks at the floor, “Thank you, Kuro-rin. Maybe-”

Kurogane holds up a hand and rolls his eyes. “Whatever. It’s only important to me if you want it to be.” He settles at the edge of his bed and stares down at the sleeping children. “You’ve kept your word,” he says after a long pause.

“What?” Fay looks at him, clearly confused.

“You haven’t died.”

“How is that keeping my word, Kuro-tan?”

“You promised you wouldn’t, when you took these two in.”

“Oh, yes. Well-”

“I fight next to you every day, idiot,” Kurogane cuts him off, “I’ve seen the difference.”

“…Is Kuro-chi saying something… _nice_?”

“ _Tche_ ,” Kurogane scoffs, “Don’t let it go to your head, moron.”

“I just,” Fay says slowly, eyes lingering on the sleeping children, “Don’t think anyone should have to be alone.” He sighs deeply and crawls under the heavy blankets on his bed. “Good night, Kuro-sama.”

Kurogane sighs and douses the candle. “Night, idiot.”

 

 

 

 

Fay is draped over the opposite edge of the mattress when Kurogane wakes the next morning, having scuttled away sometime during the night. He’s sweating – drenched in it – and the pink flush has finally left his cheeks; Kurogane sighs in relief as he runs a hand across Fay’s forehead and finds his fever greatly diminished. Fay mumbles quietly in his sleep as Kurogane shifts him back onto the mattress and wraps the blankets around him before rising and stumbling into the kitchenette.

The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, but for once he feels well-rested and at peace as he bangs the grounds out of the metallic percolator and digs in the small cabinet for coffee. He frowns at the sink, still slightly fouled from the night before (of course _that_ wouldn’t be one of his endless waking nightmares) and blasts the tap high and hot. The water steams quietly as he cuts a piece of stale bread from their loaf and gnaws at it mindlessly, staring out the small window into the streets. 

There is a rustle of skirts, a glimpse of long black hair, and for a moment he’s not certain he’s entirely awake as a face he’s not seen in years steps through the crowd. The half-eaten bread clatters to the counter, suddenly forgotten as he raps excitedly against the window pane. 

She turns (along with the rest of the passing crowd, but they’re not important and he’s not interested in the strange looks they throw in his direction) toward the sound, a slow smile creeping across her features as recognition sets in. A moment later and Kurogane is hurrying to the entry way, careful not to make too much noise as she shuffles into the small apartment.

“Kurogane!” there’s a sudden weight around his neck as the girl springs forward to embrace him, “What are you doing here?”

“I- _uff_ ” he sets her down gently and takes her coat, suddenly aware that he’s not wearing more than his pajamas and feeling slightly self-conscious, “We live here, you fool.”

“We?”

“Yes – _we_ ,” he pauses, looking incredulously at the girl, “Tomoyo, you _do_ remember Fay.”

Tomoyo flashes him a brilliant smile and he swears her eyes sparkle just a bit brighter. “Of course,” she says, laughing, “I’m just surprised to find the two of you here, of all places.”

“ _Tche_ ,” Kurogane drags a hand through his hair and looks around the tiny flat, “Not all of us can be wealthy dreamseers working for the government…”

“Not what I meant,” Tomoyo assures him, “I’m so happy to see you, finally.”

“Me too,” Kurogane manages, “What are you doing on this side of town, anyway? Stopping by to see Sakura?”

“That, too,” she says, wistfully, eyes travelling slowly up to meet Kurogane’s, “I felt a… _pull_. Something in a dream insisted I come this way,” she pauses, taking a deep breath, “I wonder if it was you…”

“ _Tche_ ,” Kurogane rolls his eyes wildly, “Trespassing through my nightmares again?”

Tomoyo only grins. “Well, maybe if you would drop a line or two, or, god forbid, stop by to visit I wouldn’t have to!” she sighs melodramatically, “Honestly Kurogane, we spent our entire childhood together and you don’t even come by on the holidays!”

“I…” he trails off, knowing he’s guilty, and decides to change the subject, “You want a cup of coffee?” 

“Let’s go out,” she suggests, tugging at his sleeve, “Then we don’t have to worry about waking Fay.”

Kurogane grimaces and scolds himself silently for forgetting about the moron before agreeing. “Let me just change…”

He makes quick work of dressing and makes one last stop at the side of the bed to reassure himself that Fay’s fever is indeed gone and leave a gentle good-bye kiss on his forehead before heading out onto the chilly morning streets. Tomoyo laughs and skips along their way, regaling him with ridiculous stories of her family and life since they last met. He can’t help but smile to himself; it’s been far too long and he’s forgotten how her effervescence has always managed to put him at ease.

His cheerful mood is soon shattered, however, as they arrive in front of the Veterans Administration hospital and she releases his hand.

“There’s no coffee here,” he grunts, eyeing her suspiciously.

“No, but this is where you need to be, isn’t it?”

“Goddamn it, Tomoyo…”

“Kurogane,” she pleads quietly, all traces of her former light-heartedness wiped from her face, “Please.”

“What have you been doing,” he growls, “Conspiring with that idiot? Do the two of you have nothing better to do than meddle?”

A small chuckle. “How would we conspire?” she wonders, “Besides which, the things you call meddling are nothing less than love.”

“ _Tche_ ,” he scowls, first at Tomoyo and then at the gaping entrance in front of him, “Fine. But don’t expect anything to come of this. I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” Tomoyo assures him, “Now _go_.” She gives him a final hug and a shove toward the door.

Kurogane growls, but says nothing as he stomps through the double doorway into a large waiting room. The nurse at the desk is unfamiliar (how long _has_ it been since he’s kept an appointment here?), she shuffles him off with a mountain of paperwork which he finishes with an appropriate amount of grumbling and sends him to wait in the crowded room for his turn. There’s nothing to do now but suffer the stifling heat and the ragged, sagging chair until he is called.

“Kuro-sama…”

“Hmm?” There’s blond hair tickling his nose as he lifts his chin to free his lips from their resting spot as the base of Fay’s neck.

“What will you do when you’re done here?”

“Reenlist.”

Fay snorts, breath catching in a bitter chuckle as he rolls away, blankets bunching around his waist. “You can’t be serious. Why on earth would you want to reenlist in this mess?”

“Nothing better to do,” Kurogane crosses his arms over his head and stares at the roof of the tent.

“What about your family?” Fay is staring at him incredulously, which is really more irritating that Kurogane would care to admit.

“My family is dead,” he says simply, then turns sharply toward the bedside table and turns a picture of a man and woman face down, a sudden flash of embarrassment sweeping across his face.

Fay laughs at the gesture and leans quickly over the other the other man to snatch the frame before Kurogane has time to complain. He stares for a moment, then quietly, “Are these your parents?”

“Yeah.”

“How did they…? If don’t-”

“First wave of the Blitz,” Kurogane answers, taking the photograph from Fay and slowly tracing the lines of his parents’ faces, “Our town ended up being the test-ground for whatever new spell those bastard Valerians conjured that started this whole mess.”

Fay is silent for a long moment, and Kurogane is almost certain he can see tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “I’m so sorry…” he whispers, laying his head against Kurogane’s chest.

“What are you sorry for, idiot?” Kurogane claps a hand over the pale shoulder and shakes it, “It’s not like you had anything to do with it.”

Fay chuckles darkly. “The magic…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Kurogane grunts, now well and truly annoyed, “Just because someone else misused magic you think you have to-”

“I’m _sorry_ , Kuro-sama,” Fay cuts him off, “…Yuui - he...too.” He falls silent once again.

Kurogane exhales deeply, for once in their acquaintance wishing that the moron would just keep talking. The silence filling the tent is overwhelming, making the few inches separating their bodies feel more like a million miles. He closes the gap, pulling Fay into his chest and wraps his arms tightly around the other man. “What about you,” he murmurs against the blond crown, “What will you do when you’re done?”

Fay stiffens, then coughs dryly. “Hadn’t thought that far…”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“So I’ve been told,” Fay breathes deeply, caressing the skin of Kurogane’s chest with his cheek. “Let’s take the kids and go far away,” he says at last.

“ _Hah?!_ ”

“You don’t want to?” Fay looks crestfallen and Kurogane has to steady his breathing.

“It,” he sputters, “It’s not that… It’s just… Where the hell is this coming from?”

Fay grins wryly, “It was nothing, Kurogane, don’t worry about it.”

“Goddamn it…” Kurogane hisses out the breath he’s been holding, “Don’t _do_ that. Don’t just shut down like that. It’s so fucking irritating.”

“I’m sorry…”

“And stop being sorry!” Kurogane rubs roughly at his face, “I just…don’t know what to say to that.” He lapses into a momentary silence. “It sounds…nice.”

Fay chuckles again, though the teasing smile that usually dances in his eyes is nowhere to be found. “Don’t worry too much about it, there’s plenty of time to decide. Might not even make it out of here…”

“Shut up,” Kurogane growls and fists his hand through the blond hair, pulling sharply to angle Fay’s eyes toward his own, “We’re both getting out of here.”

Fay looks dangerously close to laughing once again, but Kurogane denies him the opportunity by mashing their lips together, tongues tangling hot and hungrily. His hand slides down Fay’s back, drifting slowly over taut muscles – fingers dancing lightly over their ridges – and slips gently over the curve of the other’s ass. He grips tightly, squeezing and caressing, drawing a long, low moan from the other’s lips.

“Kuro-pon is always so physical,” Fay teases, the playfulness back in his eyes, “It’s like he never learned how to speak anything other than curses.”

“I can curse, if you’d prefer,” Kurogane grumbles as he nibbles along Fay’s jaw line and slowly rolls the other onto his back.

“Mmmm,” Fay grins as Kurogane laves his throat and nips at his clavicle, “I’ve heard all that before…”

“Then why are you complaining?” 

Kurogane’s fingers are tracing the curve of Fay’s thigh, dipping below his balls, teasing lightly up the shaft of his cock. “Not…complaining…” he breathes, gripping on to Kurogane’s neck and pulling their mouths together once more. Tongues meet and taste, slipping slowly across one another, as lips fondle and caress.

Kurogane closes his eyes as he grips Fay’s cock firmly and begins to stroke, his rhythm easily matched by the lascivious press and slide of their mouths. Fay moans and strains beneath him, hips rocking slowly upward, and Kurogane grinds his own erection against a slender thigh. He opens his eyes to half-lidded blue, rolling backwards into their sockets – bright and dazed – and jerks his hand faster, shivering as Fay arcs against him. 

The taste of Fay’s moans pouring over his tongue as the other writhes are exquisite; he prods harder, drinks deeper. His arm is coated in a sheen of sweat, collected as it courses over the skin of Fay’s belly, fine hairs tickling against his skin as he sweeps back and forth, gripping and stroking, the pad of his thumb tracing rough patterns against the crown of Fay’s cock. He can feel the tension building in Fay’s muscles, the slow trembling in his thighs that quicken to sharp spasms as Kurogane rolls and twists, encouraging, _demanding_. Fay comes with a gasp that smacks pointedly against the back of Kurogane’s throat; Kurogane smirks and swallows the long, keening cry that follows, draining Fay of his breath as his palm works the last of the other’s orgasm into the co-

“Mr. Suwa?”

“Huh?” Kurogane snaps to attention, a forgotten, tattered waiting-room book clattering to the floor as he jumps to his feet.

The attendant smiles, clearly amused by his confusion. “Dr. Ichihara will see you now.”

“Right…” he follows the attendant down a dimly lit hallway, craning his neck to take in some of the more bizarre portraits on the walls.  _A shrine to witchdoctors,_ he thinks dryly as he’s led into an office. The décor is obnoxious – too many swoops and swirls of fabric – and he wrinkles his nose in disgust. Excess – that’s what this is – everything screams of indulgence that’s not been seen in this country for years; not since it was torn apart by a war it couldn’t afford. That’s why he hates coming here (well, that and it’s obnoxious, excessive, indulgent inhabitant), and that’s why he’s about to turn around and-

“Have a seat, Kurogane.” Dr. Yuuko Ichihara is seated behind a desk, dressed as extravagantly as her office is decorated with long, dark hair spilling over her shoulders and piercing red eyes regarding him with a smirk.

He turns to glare, but complies. “Witch…”

“That’s a very rude way to address a ranking officer, don’t you think?”

“I’m not _in_ the army anymore,” he reminds her gruffly.

She lifts an eyebrow, amused. “You’re not?”

“Don’t fuck with me,” he snaps, “Just…do whatever messing around with my head you’re going to do so I can get back home and get on with my life.”

“Messing around with your head?” Yuuko throws her head back and looses a deep, rolling laugh, “And why is that you’ve come to see me today, Kurogane, that you’re afraid of me messing around with your head?”

He stares blankly, cursing himself for being talked into coming here, for having to deal with this insane bitch of a doctor. “The nightmares – memories of the war,” he forces through clenched teeth, “I need to find a way to stop having them.”

“They’re upsetting you, are they? The night-terrors? They do say that dreams are the gateway to the soul – is your soul so dark and dank?”

“They’re disrupting my sleep at night,” he hisses, “I’m falling asleep during the day, and it’s very troublesome. I just need you to tell me how to stop them.”

“It’s never as simple as all that, though, is it?” Yuuko counters, “If you could simply stop them, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

He can feel the acid rising in his throat, the searing rage festering just behind his eyes. “You-”

“Why don’t you describe them to me,” Yuuko interrupts, resting her chin on her hands as she observes him, “In detail. After all, a dream that is not interpreted is like a letter that has not been opened. ”

His jaw falls slack, the stream of curses hanging from his tongue silenced for the moment. He’s come all this way, pestered and cajoled and riled…and so he gives in and tells her, in all the detail she requests, of the Valerian front, the mass confusion, the hysteria, the burning, the screaming, the stink of smoldering flesh on the air.

“Such an excruciatingly detailed dream,” she says quietly when he is finished. “You say it’s a memory, and it could well be; you describe smells and tastes – two senses which are rarely present themselves to the subconscious mind. Did your unit see much action?”

“No,” he admits, “We were stationed for the most part in the outer provinces. We saw plenty of minor scuffles, but the Valerian front was really the first time we were involved in anything major.”

“The Valerian front?” Yuuko frowns and flips through a folder.

“Yeah. Front lines, it was…”

“It was…?”

“It’s giving me a headache to think about,” he admits, surprised by his own honesty, and rubs at his temples.

“Well, that’s to be expected,” Yuuko says slowly, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze, “You were never stationed at the Valerian front.”

“What?” he stares, dumbfounded and unsure whether to rage at the doctor for her obvious incompetence or storm straight out the door and never look back. In the end, he chooses to gape helplessly.

“Your file states that you were a mechanic in the 6th regiment, serving under general Zagato. Your unit was scheduled to leave for the front on August 3rd, however-”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” his hands curl automatically into fists, “I was there. I remember it. Recheck your records, lady. We were discharged with honors after serving at the front.”

“We?”

“Yes. Private Fluorite and myself. He was there too – _I’m not just making shit up_!”

“Hmm…” her brow furrows noticeably, “I am quite well acquainted with Private Fluorite. He served under my command for several years before his transfer to the 6th Regiment… Tell me, Kurogane; what else happens in this dream?”

“I told you, it’s not a dream, it’s a memory-”

“Then why do you still have your arm?”

“It’s _part_ of a memory,” he corrects, “It’s…wrong.”

“What is the scenery like, in this dream?”

“What? Why does that matter?”

“Everything matters,” Yuuko smiles and Kurogane feels his skin positively _crawl_ , “If we are to determine the meaning of this dream.”

“For fuck’s sake – it’s not…” he cuts himself off in midsentence – there seems to be little point in arguing with the delusional bitch – “There are mountains. And strange trees with purple fruit.”

“Anything else?”

“No! That’s all I remember before everything descends into chaos. From there everything just goes dark…”

“You certainly aren’t very accommodating,” Yuuko chides, scribbing notes, “But, I suppose that can’t be helped. Now, what you’re describing here is watching the people closest to you die in what would surely be a stressful situation for anyone. It’s a common theme for nightmares, and likely nothing to worry about.”

“Have you not listened to a word I’ve-”

“I’ve listened to many words you’ve said, and now I am offering you an interpretation and a piece of advice.”

“ _Advice?_  I’ve yet to hear any advice from you, you-”

“It’s just a dream, Kurogane,” she interrupts swiftly, “All you need do is wake up.”

“ _Wake up?_ ” he’s nearly screaming, can feel the veins in his forehead throbbing, “I come in here because I can’t sleep, you bang on about the solution not being simple, and your advice is to _wake up_?”

“Yes,” she grins, “Wake up.”

“You’re out of your goddamned mind,” he growls, finally getting to his feet and stomping to the door.

“And yet you’re the one imagining he was stationed at the front.”

“I’m not imagining anything! I _was_ there, no matter what your phony records say. That scrawny bastard was there with me – we’ve been living together for seven years! Are we _both_ delusional?”

“It’s entirely possible,” Yuuko murmurs, “Though I imagine a bit of honesty from Private Fluorite would go a long way in relieving most of your troubles.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Yuuko smirks. “The word ‘dream’ itself has roots in older Germanic ‘ _truegen_ : to deceive or delude’ and cognates in many languages implying deception and occasionally outright harm. Perhaps you ought to ask your friend what he knows of illusions and dreams.”

“What are you saying?”

“You may want to examine the last seven years of your life, Kurogane. Not everything is as it seems.”

He slams the door without waiting for more.

The sun is high in the noon sky as he stomps back home, scattering the crowds around him in his defiance.  _That fucking bitch!_ He should have known this would be a waste of time – he _did_ know this would be a waste of time, but no one wanted to listen.  _Not everything is as it seems_. What the hell was that even supposed to mean? Was she suggesting Fay was somehow fooling him into believing the last years of his life were something they weren’t? How – _with magic_? The fool wouldn’t use magic for the simplest of tasks, let alone to…

No, he is certain. They had been discharged and moved to this backwater province seven years ago. Syaoran and Sakura had joined them several years later after…after…when the hell had it been? It didn’t matter; he’d made plenty of other memories…

Anniversaries, birthdays…surely he could recall _those_ at least. Moving into their flat? His first day at his job?

Everything is blank.

He breaks into a run, mind whirling, grasping at anything – anything at all – that might convince him his life is not a complete empty slate. Is _this_ what that witch was talking about? Has that bastard _done_ something to his memories?

The apartment door thuds against the wall when he throws it open and stalks through. He wants answers and he is going to have them, now. For seven years he’s trusted, cared for, fuck – _loved_ that bastard; it’s nigh unthinkable that he’d betray him like this…

He catches himself. It _is_ unthinkable. He forces himself to calm down before tiptoeing through the entryway. It’s _that bitch that’s the problem, not the magic-impaired idiot_. There is an explanation here, he can _feel_ it down to his bones…

On first inspection, the room is empty; the bed has not been folded away and the other sparse furnishings are pushed messily about the room, but there is no trace of Fay. Kurogane frowns and winds through the clutter, anxious for reasons he’s afraid to admit. When he finds him, sprawled across the floor and half tucked beneath the bed frame, Kurogane’s first impulse is to panic, though this fades away as he realizes the other man is still warm, still breathing.

He lifts him gently from the floor, half-mumbling curses and slurs about the blonde’s clumsiness as he does, and feels the panic once again rise in his chest as Fay’s face is exposed. The blond hair is matted and caked with blood where it sticks; blood and thick jelly seep from the empty socket of his eye. There is no blood staining the mattress, no mess staining the floor where he laid not seconds ago – Kurogane has no idea what has transpired in his absence, no clues as to how or who or _what_ might have done this. 

He rips the pillow cases, wadding the fabric into the wound to stop the bleeding and wraps the remainder around Fay’s head. There is no time to think; he throws the blankets over the other man and gathers him up roughly, turning swiftly to run out the door and into the street.

The crowds are thick and moving away from the hospital. Kurogane has never seen so many people on the streets in his life – why now of all times? He forces his way through, shouting and screaming as he lunges, desperate to break through this never ending sea of faces. The crowd pulses around him.

“Kurogane!”

He whips his head around to find Sakura at his side, clinging to his arm as she battles the passers-by.

“Kurogane, I made sandwiches! I come eat some!”

“What?” he sputters in disbelief, shaking the girl from his arm, “What are you-” But Sakura is already melting away, dripping along the lace of her dress in a mess as green as her once beautiful eyes-

He’s dreaming.

 _That goddamned witch._

He needs to wake up.

“Mr. Suwa?”

“Huh?” Kurogane snaps to attention, a forgotten, tattered waiting-room book clattering to the floor as he jumps to his feet.

The attendant smiles, clearly amused by his confusion. “Dr. Ichihara will see you now.”

“Right…” he follows the attendant down a dimly lit hallway, craning his neck to take in some of the more bizarre portraits on the walls.  _A shrine to witchdoctors,_ he thinks dryly as he’s led into an office. The décor is obnoxious – too many swoops and swirls of fabric – and he wrinkles his nose in disgust. Excess – that’s what this is – everything screams of indulgence that’s not been seen in this country for years; not since it was torn apart by a war it couldn’t afford. That’s why he hates coming here (well, that and it’s obnoxious, excessive, indulgent inhabitant), and that’s why he’s about to turn around and-

“Kurogane.”

He sputters, flails, nearly falls over in shock. “Tomoyo?”

“Kurogane,” Tomoyo smiles and gently takes his hand, “Do you know where you are?”

“I’m at the VA,” he looks around to be certain, “You – you dragged me here.”

“I did,” she says, a guilty frown pulling the corners of her mouth tight, “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” he demands. Everything is a blur; the scenery around him seems to fizzle and fade with the drumming of his pulse. “What the hell is going on?”

She bites her lip, pain creeping into her expression. “What do you know,” she asks slowly, “About Yuui Fluorite?”

“ _You fucking bastard!_ ”

Kurogane ignores the taunt and continues to pack his belongings.

“You sent them away.”

“They’re safer this way. They’re with the family that raised me after my parents were killed.”

Fay cannot argue with this, but it doesn’t quell his rage. “You didn’t even let me say goodbye.”

Kurogane looks up from his piles, eyes steady and defiant. “You were in the infirmary.”

“So I was.”

“You were in the infirmary because you refused to fight. You refused to fight and you were taken down by an inexperienced mage who you could have defeated with a single blow. Instead, you let yourself get torn to shreds without lifting a finger to defend yourself. You! A trained mage yourself!”

Fay holds his eyes, lips curling into a snarl. “You know damned well-”

“I know damned well that you’re a coward too wrapped up in guilt for other people’s misuse of magic to make good use of your own. I know damned well that you’d rather wallow in that guilt than save your own life. And I know damned well that neither of those children needed to see you die.”

“You don’t know anything,” Fay growls, “Yuui-”

“Is dead,” Kurogane snaps, finally at the end of his chain, “You’re alive, or at least you pretend to be.” He stuffs the last of his clothing into his pack and heads for the door.  “Get your shit packed, we’re leaving for the front in the morning.”

He imagines the nights in Valeria will be much colder without the idiot sharing his bed.

“Yuui Fluorite is dead,” Kurogane says dumbly, wondering where Tomoyo picked up the name. “He died years ago, after…after…” he stops, realizing he knows nothing else about Fay’s twin.

“After the deaths of their parents, the Fluorite twins became wards of the Valerian state,” Tomoyo pauses and holds up a hand to halt Kurogane’s protests, “They showed great potential both as dreamseers and mages and were enrolled very early in the military academy, where they specialized under the guidance of a mage known as Ashura. I knew them well when we were younger, having met many nights when everyone else was fast asleep. Fay was naturally gifted in offensive magic; Yuui in illusory magic. As their powers grew and developed, they caught the attention of not only the Valerian government, but our own as well, who feared they might be used as a weapon. In response, the twins were locked away and their powers studied – the Valerian government desperate to harness them in the face of a growing conflict with our own nation.”

Kurogane forces his mouth closed, unaware until now that he’s been gaping. “But how-”

“Their magic is rooted in their eyes,” Tomoyo continues swiftly, “To harness this power…” she trails off, aware that her point has been made.

“They killed Yuui,” Kurogane mumbles in disbelief, “They killed his brother to-”

“After the first strikes were made against Nihon,” Tomoyo says softly, and Kurogane knows exactly of which she speaks, “Their facilities were raided and Fay was granted asylum in this country. He was fitted with a geass that would repress his magic and placed under the command of General Ichihara, where he was watched closely before the two of you met. However…”

“However _what_?”

“It would appear that Yuui Fluorite is more powerful than expected.”

“ _What?_  You mean he survived? How? Does Fay know?”

“’Fay’ knows very well,” Tomoyo says, sadly, “As it was he who surrendered the name many years ago.”

“It was Fay who died…” Kurogane breaths, guessing more than understanding, “It was his magic they harnessed to- Oh _god_ …” A wave nausea courses through him as he recalls his burning childhood home, the faces of his parents, the pained expression on Fay’s face the night he’d… “How do you know?” he croaks.

“There was an incident,” Tomoyo says, “Your regiment was ambushed on the way to Valeria. During the battle, a powerful illusion was cast; both sides were affected. Mass hysteria ensued, friend was indistinguishable from foe. You all attacked…”

“What does this have to do with Fa-with Yuui?”

“He is the only mage powerful enough to cast that illusion, let alone break the geass that was placed on him,” she pauses, looking away, “He is the only one capable of keeping you _here_.” 

“Where is _here_?”

Tomoyo rests a hand on his shoulder, gently reassuring him. “This is a dream, Kurogane. It’s _because_ you are dreaming that I was able to find you. It’s because you are dreaming that you were able to contact General Ichihara. It’s _Yuui_ who now guides you through this dream.”

“Dream?” He’s going to be ill, he can feel it in his knees, rising up through his gut…

“It’s time to wake up, Kurogane,” Tomoyo smiles, “You’ve done your duty here. Now, you must wake up…”

“My duty?” he splutters, “I haven’t done anything! What happens if I wake up?” 

“I don’t know,” she confesses, “But I pray that we will meet again – outside of a dream.”

“Damn it, Tomoyo – don’t leave me here!” he screams as she fades away.

There is nothing now but the darkness.

He coughs and sputters as consciousness once again takes hold. The air reeks of death – charred flesh and panic. The sky is black, and the screams of the dying ring through the stagnant air.

He has returned to his nightmare, but knows there will be no shocked awakening to save him now.

“Kuro-sama…”

The voice is quiet and airy, and Kurogane has only to shift slightly to find its owner. He’s hunched over, a mess of wounds across his back where his fatigues appear to have melted against his skin in the shape of a phoenix. Blood pours from his face; a ragged hole once filled by a blue eye, and Kurogane needs only to focus on the jelly between his own fingers to understand where it has gone. Kurogane rolls – tries to roll – but is unable. The stump of his shoulder, burned and cauterized where his arm used to swing, prevents him from moving.

“I’m sorry…”

“Shut up!” Kurogane hisses, barely able to speak. “What have you done?”

“I…” Fay’s head tilts forward, “I saw you fall. Your arm… And I… I couldn’t control it.”

Kurogane sighs, unable to say anything more.

“I’d wanted you to stay…asleep. At least until…” Fay gasps, and coughs a thick mass of blood, “You looked so peaceful.”

“Your eye,” Kurogane murmurs quietly, finally understanding, “You can’t sustain it anymore. We have to find…”

“Stop moving,” Fay commands with a vehemence Kurogane would not have imagined possible moments earlier, “You found Ichihara. She’ll send back-up.”

“But your eye – if we don’t get you treated somewhere soon, you’ll die.”

Fay laughs bitterly. “I doubt they’ll let me live after this anyway. I only wish I could have kept you more comfortable.”

Kurogane will not listen to another word and struggles to his feet, hauling the would-be magician with him and marches toward the foothills. Whatever battles remain can only be fought if they survive.

There are lights beckoning in the distance.


End file.
